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I groan, telling myself it doesn’t mean I’m a failure, even ashervoice hisses in my mind.
But then I check my other text notification.
It’s from Eli.
I hope studying is going well, my dedicated Della.
I bite down, the notion that I’ve failed by collapsing into an hours-long nap getting even sharper.
Maybe it’s sharing it with Eli, but I’ve been thinking about Jess more this past day than usual. I remember what I’d do if she asked me a question like this…I’d lie, telling her I did great, not willing to endure the bull crap she’d sling my way.
But I’m not a kid anymore.
And I think, hope, and pray Eli truly cares.
He shared all that stuff about his mom, telling me I’m the only woman he wants…the one he’s choosing, not all the others who have undoubtedly thrown themselves at him over the years.
How could womennotthrow themselves at him?
He’s ripped, talented, intelligent, and all the things a woman could ever want.
And he’smine.
Not great, I text.I’ve just woken up from an unplanned nap. I'm feeling pretty crappy about it since I was supposed to get some studying done today. I’m at the restaurant all day tomorrow, so I doubt I’ll get any studying done then.
If I was texting a man my age, I’d expect a delay to this message. I learned all about that in high school, and Hudson has mentioned a few of his friends using those tactics.
“They say if she hasn’t texted back for six hours, you have to wait seven. I honestly can’t be bothered with head games like that.”
Eli texts back after a minute.
You probably needed the sleep, beautiful. What is it you said to me earlier? Don’t be so hard on yourself.
I think I’ll try and get some done tonight, I reply.But yeah, maybe you’re right. Maybe I should stop beating myself up every time I take a nap.
There’s no maybe about it, Della. It’s the truth. You don’t need that. The fact you care enough to feel guilty means you’re going to do well.
But then what if I stop feeling guilty, huh? Will I stop caring, then stop doing well?
You’re too smart for me.
I smile, my heart picking up pace, the tingling feeling from his office returning to me.
I wish you were here, I type.I want you to wrap your arms around me, to hold me. Just hold me. Or maybe, if we start getting really excited, we could try other stuff…but I’m not sure I can go all the way. I want it so badly, but…
I delete the message. It’s a bad habit, perhaps, creating all these future selves – these confident versions of me – and deleting them before I have a chance to see how they’ll fare.
What are you doing this evening?I ask.
Arranging the budget for my gym.
You own a gym?I didn’t know that.
I imagine him nodding, that gentle yet somehow savage smirk on his lips, a combination unique to my man.
It’s an MMA gym. I’ve recently started a new series of classes. I’m looking into hiring more trainers.
Eli, I almost don’t want to say….
